War Paint
by SashaDaae
Summary: Donny didn't think much of this Aldo Raine character..that is, until killing Nazis became a business for the Basterds. War changes your outlook, and Donny isn't sure if he's too thrilled about that; future slash Donny/Aldo Working title, may change
1. Lives opened and trashed

Disclaimer: it all belongs to Tarantino. Nicht mir!

First IB story too. Yippeee!

* * *

Tennessee, Donny thought, must be an absolute shithole.

Granted, everywhere outside of Boston Donny regarded as a shithole. He was proud to be from Massachusetts, proud to be born and raised in Bean City. Donny had never been one for history, but when he was a kid, the field trips to Faneuil Hall and the Freedom Trail always made him feel damn proud to be an American- and, furthermore, a Yankee. The synagogues were close, the parks they used for baseball fields even closer.

But Tennessee? Made sense, considering Raine's accent was thicker than his neighbor lady's homemade cream pie. Donny had snorted into his hand, hoping Raine wouldn't see the reaction.

But it seemed the bastard heard everything. He had turned toward Donny and regarded him silently, chewing the corner of his mouth.

"Yank got a problem with that?"

Donny had straightened, looked Raine straight in the eye. "Not at all, sir."

Raine had smirked and turned back to the Italian he had been speaking to, then added as a sort of afterthought, "Good, seein' as you'll be servin' under me _reaaaal_ soon."

Donny had swore under his breath as he followed Raine, the Italian watching him with a bemused grin on his face.

* * *

He would not say that he and Raine were friends. Nico was his friend. So was Benny and even Murphy, whose father owned the Irish pub. Raine and Donny were not friends in the least, nor were they acquaintances.

They hardly even spoke during the trip from Italy to France. They had a stare down, and Donny was sure he was winning.

Raine was chewing tobacco, slowly. It reminded Donny of a cow. His superior sighed through his nose, slowly, before leaning forward, unblinking.

"Tell me, Donowitz, what the hell you doin' this for?"

Donny blinked.

"Well.." he spoke slowly. "Serve my country would be the easy way out.." Donny shifted uneasily, feeling suddenly nervous under Raine's gaze. "And I could say that I wanna make m' parents proud of me." He paused for a moment, staring at his newly cleaned boots. "Mostly, though..these Nazis sound like a bunch of fuckers. I'm Jewish, and I'm not gonna watch a bunch of insane cop-school rejects ruin the family I got left." he added.

Raine snorted and clapped Danny on the knee before leaning back, stroking his chin with one hand, the other buried under his armpit. "That's what I like to hear, Donowitz."

The younger man turned away, feeling slightly unnerved by the older man's strange demeanor. He didn't like Aldo Raine. He didn't like his accent or his smell or his attitude.

* * *

"I have an idea, Donowitz, and you're joinin' me."

Donny glanced at the bunk above him. Raine was swinging one leg over the edge, and he was sure it would eventually kick him right in the face. _Fucking hillbilly._

"All right, sir, shoot."

"Whatcha say if I got a bunch of other Jews like you together. We form a little group of our own, no connection to the military or nothin'. We're out on our own." There was a pause, leading Donny to presume the man up top had taken out his snuff box. "We take on the Nazis ourselves. Whatcha think of that?"

Donny sat up so quickly his head hit against the board. "Mother _fucker._" he swore, rubbing his forehead. "Not a bad idea, but how are you going to find a bunch of random American Jews? _Sir._"

"I got connections." Raine answered. "I got me some real good connections, Donowitz. You likin' this so far?"

Donny sighed and blinked, white dots dancing in his vision. He could go for a game right now, some of his ma's homemade blintzes. "Don't have a choice."

"Good." Donny imagined Raine was smirking.

When he woke up from a fitful night, Donny had the biggest fucking headache in the world, and boy, he was damn sure he was going to kill the next person who spoke to him.

And he was confident that person was going to be Raine.

"Donowitz! Get outside, we got some recruits." Raine slammed his fist against the dingy bathroom door as he walked past. Donny groaned, throwing water over his face before hurriedly washing it off with a towel. Even the _water_ here smelled like piss.

"Yes sir." he called back, glancing barely at his reflection in the mirror. He was gonna show Aldo Raine what he was made of. Donny Donowitz was not just some Jewish Yank with a funny accent. Donny Donowitz was gonna make himself into a big name with the Nazis.


	2. Look ma, watch me crash

Disclaimer: it all belongs to Tarantino. Nicht mir!

* * *

Donny knew their names within the minutes he first met them.

Wilhelm Wicki, originally from Austria. Utivich, from Virginia. Hirschberg, who used to work at a steel mill. Omar Ulmer, all the way from sunny _Calee-for-neeya_. Sakowitz, Zimmerman, Kagan.

Raine could care less. They were all the same to him- Jewish military boys who maybe wanted a little risk, who were bored with the good old Armed Forces. He had what he wanted, time to make a good impression on them, convince them if they weren't already. Donny was ready to explain their names and their backgrounds to Raine, but the Tennessee native had shrugged and walked on down the hall. "Don't care, pal."

Donny had spat in his direction before making his way outside to attend to the new recruits. The past couple of days, Donny had come to the conclusion that just because Raine came from a shithole doesn't mean he couldn't act like an uppity rich.._person. _The words Donny exchanged with Raine were harsh and offensive, delivered in the Boston accent he was so proud of.

The sergeant had once said, late at night to the boards above him, that Raine was nothing more than a dirty hillbilly, had no military experience, where Donny's father was a veteran, a hardened, experienced, _Jewish _man. What did Raine care about the Nazis? Why did he act like such a goddamned know-it all? Donny told the boards he hated those types.

Later, he had stood back dutifully, watched his lieutenant speak, ordered the runts around. He had observed them, judged their capability.

Utivich was a little shifty, and Omar struck him as impressively _inexperienced- _hell, he could tell by the way he stood. But they were young, just as Donny was, and could be trained easily.

"Like havin' a bunch of stupid little hounds around." Raine had joked later, a lame attempt at camaraderie with Donny. "Betcha they'll piss their pants and shake like kids at first, but then ya build 'em back up."

Donny had said nothing from his place on the bottom bunk. He was holding his baseball bat in his hands, reading the names he had etched into its wood; names from back home, back in Boston. Raine went silent too before Donny heard the bunk above him shift in weight, the heavy feet thudding to the floor as the Southerner jumped to the floor.

Hands balled in fists against his hips, Raine addressed the wall rather than his companion. "Thought you little Bostonian water rats talked a mile an hour or somethin' like that. You have barely spoken a word to your superior. Seems to me you ain't so excited about all this after all."

Donny tapped the bat against the wall. Water rats? What was this redneck _talking_ about? "Well, sir, I have a big fucking headache today, sir, and I'm not too fucking keen on talking a mile an hour, sir. If you want to know I'm pretty fine with killin' these here Nazis," here he mimicked Raine's thick accent; he saw Raine's back stiffen. "Sorry that I don't alert you every second I can like Utivich, _sir_!"

He should have seen the punch coming, should have expected it. How many fights had been staged between him and his buddies in their meager backyards? It hurt more than he expected; Raine had caught him right in the eye. Donny hissed; it would be bruised tomorrow.

The young man rolled off the bed and landed with a thud on the hard linoleum floor, the baseball bat under him, before a hard boot kicked him in the shin. He scrambled upright and faced Raine, his jaw working stupidly, trying to speak, before he decided to swing the baseball bat at the lieutenant. He barely missed- impossible, Donny _never_ missed, never- his lieutenant's meaty shoulder. Donny stood there, silently fuming, _fuck fuck fuck who does he think he is, cocky bastard-_

"Lazy bastard." he heard Raine mutter. "I ask for a sergeant and this is what they send me?"

* * *

Time to go. Time to leave the safety of that little obscure base and get in deep, find the Nazis, and, as Murphy would have simply put it, "kick their asses all the way to Zimbabwe!" Wherever _that_ was.

Wicki had stared at Donny throughout their meal of soggy bread and cold oatmeal. It was the bruise, he was sure of it, but Donny wasn't going to let on how it happened. None of their damn business anyways.

Of course it was Zimmerman who made the mistake. "'Scusin' me, Lieutenant Donowitz, what happened to your eye? Get in a fight with a bear or somethin'?" he flashed his pearly whites as he sat down next to Omar. Donny slowly lifted his eyes to look at Zimmerman, his spoon paused inches from his mouth.

"You are interrupting my eating time to ask me how I got this bruise?"

Zimmerman leaned back, hands in the air. "Didn't mean no offense by it, sir, I apologize."

The damage, however, was done. Donny slammed the grimy spoon on the table, oatmeal flying onto Hirschberg's lap. "Next time, don't fucking ask." he leaned over the table, knuckles resting on top of Zimmerman's weak toast, crushing it.

He could hear them mumbling as he left the hall, a sneer imprinted on his face.

* * *

Nico, Benny, Murphy. Rabbi Chomsky. Mrs. Dreyfus. Old Man Berkowitz. Ester and Eva. It was only a handful of the names he'd carved into his lucky baseball bat before he'd boarded the plane bound for Italy. He missed them, all of them, even Ester and Eva, those nosy twins with the straight teeth and straight hair and straight eyebrows.

"Ready, lieutenant?" Omar had poked his head in the room- not the rest of him, it was like he was afraid to even go in. Donny gave the bat one last slap against the wall before sitting up.

"Sure am." he slung it over his shoulder before sauntering past Omar, hand stuck in his pocket. Make a good impression, buddy, don't let 'em see ya sweat!

Raine was watching him, chewing a slice of cheese before spitting it on the ground. "Tastes like shit, what do they put in this cheese anyway?" he grunted, kicking dirt over it. "Nice boo-boo there, Donowitz. In case you didn't get the memo, you better change outta them clothes." Raine nodded at a lump residing in a truck. A truck that looked very...

German.

"You're kidding me!" Donny gaped as Raine clapped him on the shoulder.

Wearing a bunch of Nazi uniforms was not Donny's idea of fun. He twirled the baseball bat in the dirt and glared at Raine as his superior shrugged again.

"You signed up for this shit." Raine nodded at the clothes. "Unless you want a pair of sunglasses as a souvenir before we send ya back home."


	3. No time to question

Disclaimer: it all belongs to Tarantino. Nicht mir! Oh- and the lyrics used in the chapter titles comes from _Last Exit_ by Pearl Jam.

* * *

They had only been roaming for two days, and already they were whining about the girls back home. Well, the recruits were, over in the clearing. Donny didn't know what Raine was up to, didn't care much either. Probably smoking somewhere, burning down trees with those cigarettes.

Wicki was watching them all and smirking, shaking his head. "I had a French girl once, from Paris." he boasted as he cleaned his knife. "Lucienne. Beautiful, sophisticated, intelligent."

"Pfft, the French." Hirschberg waved a hand. "My girl's from my hometown. Wants to be a doctor, she says, a _doctor_! She ain't no dimwit, she's gonna make a name for herself. Gonna marry her when I get home."

Donny listened to them from his position in the tree, their voices faint, yet still recognizable. He was watching, watching for- what did Raine call them?- Krauts. Nazis. Raine was going easy on the new guys, he knew it. He felt absurd up in this tree; he was a city boy, after all. What kind of city boy takes hikes and climbs trees in his free time?

"The kind under _Aldo Raine_." he muttered, spitting and watching it fall to the muddy French ground. Patches of grass had sprung up here and there, but it was mostly mud and rocks and some moss. He'd made an idiot of himself, sliding all over the place while the rest of the guys had trekked easily through the element. And Donny was pretty sure he heard Raine and Omar laughing about something involving the Yanks.

He had stretched out a knee until he heard its satisfying _crack _when Sakowitz came stumbling over the hill to the clearing, tripping over himself as he found Raine. He was mouthing something that Donny couldn't hear. Raine nodded and turned to him then, waving him down impatiently.

"Got us a couple of Germans over that hill there. About twenty to thirty. With that I reckon three, four scalps a man. Now, y'all listen to me, none of you is fucking this up.."

Donny's jaw clenched. He wish he had his baseball bat

* * *

Donny eyed the group from his spot; he was thankful for the tall grass, the trees that sheltered the silhouettes of his comrades, because he sure as shit wasn't painting his face with mud. The Krauts were speaking quickly, laughing as they cleaned their rifles.

This was going to be a damn good time.

They didn't see Wicki when the bullet hit one of the men, a beefy blonde. They had looked around at each other, wide-eyed. In that moment, Donny knew they were new at this, a bunch of fresh recruits just like the men that were around him.

Difference was, they were ready. These Krauts were hesitating a mere moment too long.

As Donny finally stood and took aim, he felt a little like he should have some epic music swelling behind him, just like in the movies. But as he tumbled down the hill, one of the Nazis missing him by inches, he remembered this shit was _real_. His adrenaline was pumping, more than the time he and his buddies made a _home run cycle _against O'Reilly and his boys, _someone call the newspapers because this shit never happens not even with the big guys, boys we are gonna be fuckin' famous after this! _He saw guys falling, this was too easy but he didn't mind, get a couple of scalps and leave 'em behind for their buddies to find and they'll be shitting _their _pants, Donny had three down, ninety-seven to go...

He was sweaty and disgusting and covered in mud, so Donny supposed the whole face painting didn't matter, it was on him anyway. He whirled around, clutching his Garand to his chest, when out of the corner of his eye he saw another Kraut, crawling on the ground, trying to look dead but it wasn't working. Take a couple of steps, give the guy a little credit, make it look like he's doing something right...

Donny turned quickly on his heel, aimed the Garand right for the German's face, fired. He swore under his breath and reeled back as the man took cover under one of his dead buddies and shot without pause. "What the hell is your problem, mama not love you enough?" he shouted. This man said nothing, only snarled at Donny's babble before his shoulders jerked back, mouth transforming in a gape. He dropped his rifle on the face of the corpse and staggered up right, pulling out a handgun and fired one shot behind him, one at Donny.

_Idiot! _Donny wanted to laugh, wanted to throw down the Garand and collapse on the ground laughing at the ignorance of this new recruit as he aimed once more, _get it right Donny make papa proud, _and squeezed the trigger and now the guy was writhing around on the ground screaming bloody murder.

Too easy, Donny thought, as he sauntered up to the man and gazed down at him. He couldn't hide his grin, _finish this guy off, finish the murderer off, _and Donny lifted the Garand high and brought it down like an axe, over and over again, smashing the man's face into bits. Blood mixed with the grime on the stolen uniform, brains and other parts that Donny barely recognized splattered around him. Things were silent, everyone was watching Donowitz go crazy on this guy, but his blood was pumping so hard he barely noticed...

"Gehrig ain't foolin' _no one _this is the World Series-" lifted the rifle high again and shot into the air- "gonna shit them Cardinals up bad and the park is goin' _nuts_ and-"

An arm around his neck in a grip, another hand pulled the Garand away. Donny struggled, "Fucking Krauts aren't taking me, get off me dammit, _get off of me right now!_"

"Calm down, Donowitz." Raine hissed in his ear. "What if there are more Krauts around, what we gonna do, huh?" he released his sergeant, who stumbled and whirled around on Raine. Donny blinked a couple of times, the ringing in his ears subsiding, his breathing hard. He looked around; everyone was staring silently, unmoving.

"Get your scalps." Raine called to them, and there was shuffling, yet still no words exchanged. Raine glanced back at Donowitz, who was fumbling for his knife. "All right there, sergeant?"

Donowitz said nothing as he bent down and sliced off the hair of the Nazis around him. He heard Raine's boots slipping over the mud near him, the Garand thrown down at his side. Donny extended his arm for Raine to take the scalp. "Take it, I don't want to hold this scum much longer." he muttered. Raine did so, the boots sloshing away, towards the other men.

When Donny looked up, he saw Raine regarding him silently, the scalp still in his hand.


	4. Why'd nothing last

Disclaimer: it all belongs to Tarantino.

* * *

The headache was back for dinner.

Raine was looking at all the scalps, marking with his long knife which one came from which member. The others ate, some relaying their encounter with the Nazis while others nodded and smiled, ate and laughed.

No one mentioned Donny's outburst.

Yet he sat with them anyways, poking at the tinned meat with disgust. Murphy's pop's bar was always good. He didn't keep kosher there, oh no. He had milk and pork there all he liked and made Murphy swear he would say nothing to his mother. Thinking of the pork steak there made his mouth water; the thought of mama's holishkes made his stomach growl. And beans- shit, it ain't Boston without the beans.

Donny leaned back, head resting against a rock, and stared into the can. The water from the meat dripped onto the stolen uniform, making the mud and blood mixture even more putrid. He wrinkled his nose and poked at it once more with a finger and watched it spring back in form. The headache pounded, made him feel like his eyes were gonna fall out.

Raine was still having fun with those scalps, chewing on tobacco again. He glanced up momentarily and caught Donny staring. The sergeant quickly returned to his meat. Footsteps, the strange sound of mud slapping, stopped near his ear. A boot kicked his knee.

"Looks like your sergeant is ahead of all of you, four scalps." Raine surveyed his men. "Not that any of you's are gettin' somethin' _special._" he paused again. "We gots us some MP40s, some more uniforms, and some shit food. Not a fan of this sour-krat myself." a round of laughter. "We're moving out again tonight."

The men shuffled. Raine didn't move. "For the lazy Yank bastard you are, you did a damn good job today. Even if it was with a little help from your lieutenant."

Donny groaned, feeling more humiliated than anything as Raine walked away, chuckling.

* * *

His head was killing him by now. The Boston native was sitting up front with Raine, MP40 in his lap, Garand at his feet. It took several reminders- from himself as well as Raine- that there could be more up ahead, could get more, kill more, so _don't fall asleep_.

"You like baseball." Raine commented. "Don't care for it, but back in Tennessee most we get to doin' is scarin' the shit outta neighbors' horses. What was th' name you used? Gehrig?"

Donny ran a hand over the edge of the window, staring out of it idly to avoid looking at Raine. "Was my life." he mumbled. Raine smirked.

"Could tell by that baseball bat o'yours." he responded. Taking his hands off the wheel, he pulled out the snuff box. "Didn't your mamma teach ya manners? How come I never got a thank you?"

He leaned his head against the window and scowled. "Don't owe you a thing, sir."

Raine's lips thinned. "Whys'at? You water rats sure are cocky, gotta hand it to ya." he glanced sideways at Donny. "Not that that's a compliment."

Donny closed his eyes and swore. Raine chuckled again.

"Whatcha dislike so much about me, Donowitz? 'Course, I understand your frustration that my old man wasn' as honorable as yours, I'm not Jewish, whatever." So he _had _heard that tirade.

"Well, sir, don't suppose I really need a reason, do I? Other than your up yours attitude, that doesn't pass in Boston buddy. But don't mind me, that's just from a useless ole' _water rat_."

Raine tipped his head from left to right, using a knee to maneuver the truck. "You are a strange little bastard, Donny."

The Bostonian didn't respond. He'd already closed his eyes, head slamming against the window along with the bumps in the road.

* * *

Donny awoke to a noise. A tapping. He groaned, white dots dancing in his vision again, then a bolt of shock through his body- he jumped and let out a yelp.

"He's awake, all right." Wicki called, moving out of Donny's line of vision, talking to someone he couldn't see, then turned back. "You were clear out, sergeant. Missed it all."

Donny sat up, realized he was still in the truck. "What do you mean I missed it?" he snapped as he rubbed his head. The MP40 was still resting on him, but the Garand was missing. "Where the hell-"

Wicki waved a hand. "We were surprised by a couple more Nazis, must have thought we were that group we slaughtered, asked us why we were moving. Nothin' much happened, Raine grabbed your Garand and shot the three of 'em. Good aim, that lieutenant has." Wicki nodded, stuffing his hands in the pockets of the Nazi uniform.

"Ah." Donny thought it was more exciting than that, had been hoping for more.

"They are always hungry, seems like- Omar and I fished some good food out of the back of their auto." Wicki finished, smirking at the way Donny's eyes lit up.

"Anything's better than that tinned crap!" he exclaimed, stretching his legs. Wicki nodded in agreement before peering inside the car.

"Sure you're feelin' good, sergeant?"

Donny threw open the door, forcing Wicki to move out of his superior's way. The Bostonian flung the stolen rifle over his shoulders, arms hooked over both sides, and grinned. "'Course I am." he drawled, cocking his head to the side. "Feelin' brand spankin' new!"

As he walked away, skipping for a little comedic effect, he remembered that Raine had used his first name.

_You are a strange little bastard, Donny._

_

* * *

_

"Good you're not passed out in my front seat anymore." Raine commented as Donny sat down. "Don't want any damned sergeants takin' a snooze on my watch, Donny."

Donny glanced quickly at the lieutenant. Raine was watching him, hand resting on his knee, the other putting out a cigarette. Again, the uncomfortable feeling deep in his stomach. "Yeah, sorry, sir." There was a long pause, a pause that had frequent between the two of them in the past; yet now it made Donny feel worse, more awkward.

"Got a girl back home?" Raine suddenly asked, folding his hands between his neck and leaning into them lazily.

Donny snorted. The only girls he knew, besides those twins, were either related or irritated the hell out of him. They complained about make-up, about their clothes, their aching feet, about having to work. "Not at all. All too prissy, I tells 'em they might as well all come straight outta New York City."

Raine smirked. Donny had expected him to throw in a comment, to share, but he stayed silent.

"I knew these twins, I have their names carved into my baseball bat, lived down the street from me. Holy _hell,_ they could talk your ear off. One of them, I think it was Ester, played baseball with us in her younger brother's shorts, but the other one was always trying to curl her hair and make herself look like hot stuff for the guys in the richer neighborhoods." he had felt the sudden need to babble, to fill the empty space with air, even if he was sharing this all with Raine. The lieutenant hadn't taken his eyes off Donny; when the young man caught him again, he took to spit-cleaning a mark off the rifle rather than continuing his story.

"Guess we've made peace, water rat." Raine commented, pulling out a sandwich and breaking it in half. He ate part of it quickly before explaining. "I saved you from that Kraut, and you had yer weapons with ya up front, if it wasn't fer that we'd probably have been fucked over pretty fast." He threw the other half to Donny and stood up, brushing himself off.

Donny stared at the sandwich half. He was not hungry, far from it; he felt physically sick. _Shit. _At the least, Raine would have had his pistol in his pocket. He knew that for a fact; Raine was a lieutenant, after all, and lieutenants didn't drive around in occupied territory without a weapon. Why Raine was lying to him about such a stupid aspect of the tale, Donny didn't know.

But he had to agree with Wicki, as Utivich gleefully showed him the dead Nazis, still laying feebly across the car- Raine _did _have good aim.


	5. Grasp and hold on

Disclaimer: it all belongs to Tarantino. Reviews appreciated!

Flames..normally sent to Voldemort, but given the circumstances I'll just send it to Landa. :)

* * *

The tunnel was dark. He liked it that way. Spooked the hell out of the Nazis when he sauntered out of there, baseball slung across his shoulder.

They'd given him a name, the Krauts. The Bear Jew. Donny didn't really get it- he didn't see himself as much of a bear, but maybe they said that because he was so hairy. Or maybe it because he was as brutal as one; the more Donny thought about it, the more answers he conjured.

Raine had become Aldo the Apache. He was sure the others had nicknames; by now they knew Wicki, whom they merely dubbed a Traitor, was with them. They were the Bastards, and boy, did they have fun with that name. Not that it was a surprise to Donny- he and Raine had thrown that word around too describe each other quite often.

_Lazy Yank bastard._

_Shit eatin' redneck bastard, bossing me around like I'm his kid brother, who does he think he is?_

_Surprised you even bother gettin' up, ya little shit. I'm not your mamma, ya bastard. Wake yer own ass up._

The Bear Jew. Aldo the sounded pretty nice. Like they should be on baseball cards or something. Donny liked it, all right.

What had changed in the past three weeks? Donny hit the bat against the wall and thought for a moment. He and Raine spoke on a daily basis- on where to go, how they should attack, how to lay low and not screw themselves over. There were other conversations, conversations on Boston and Tennessee.

Donny still held fast to his belief that Raine came from a shithole. Raine still called the younger man a water rat- why, he was sure he would never really know. The odd stares and silences when they were bent over maps, when they were cleaning their beloved weapons..it all made Donny feel sick real fast. That sure wasn't what he signed up for when he decided to go off to war.

He didn't mind Raine. Admitting that to himself was strange, made him feel like he was going against something big- natural instinct or something, maybe. He could hear Raine talking now, probably to a German. Donny felt bored, impatient. He hit the bat again a couple of times, hoping to unnerve the guy.

He had been talking to Utivich the night before, been comparing how many scalps they had like little kids compare the sweets they got at Hanukkah. Donny had laughed, kicked his heels in the air. "Kid is taking no prisoners!" he had shouted. "No prisoners, he's hit a home run and more than that, Boston is gonna be on its feet!" Utivich and Wicki had laughed at Donny rolling around like a kid. Stiglitz had watched, bemused, but stayed silent.

When he sat up, cackling stupidly, Raine had passed. Patted him on the shoulder. He had flinched, a small movement that no one noticed but the man who had touched him. The lieutenant had looked down on him, pulled out the snuff box, smirked, and turned away.

"Donny?"

A pause. He turned the baseball bat in his hands. "Yeah?"

"German wants to die for his country. Oblige him!"

An order. Donny rolled his shoulders, cracked his back, before slamming the baseball bat savagely against the cement.

Show time.

* * *

Raine was staring at the beaten body, still eating his sandwich. He kicked it gently, rolling it over so it was face-down in the dirt. "Yer an artist, Donny." he complimented, wiping the crumbs from his mustache. "Still gotta practice my carvin' skills, but the boy has this down to an art!" he snorted to Stiglitz.

Donny leaned against a rock, a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. The attention from Raine was driving him crazy. Bored, he tapped Omar on the head with the bat repeatedly until he swatted Donny away.

"Come here, Donny." Raine called, pulling out a map. "Gotta figure this shit out before more come swarmin' in."

The sergeant took his time standing up, adjusting the stolen medals he wore around his neck and kicking the dirt off his shoes. He could feel Raine's eyes on him, always his eyes on him. He threw the bat on the ground and obliged.

* * *

He was beating a tree with the bat. The others were asleep, or about as asleep as they could be in the middle of some random fucking forest in Nazi-occupied France.

Footsteps, always the footsteps. It was Raine. He knew his lieutenant's gait, the sound of his specific steps in the boots. "Why you always gotta follow me, sir?"

A chuckle. "Just watchin' out for my sergeant, Donny. How'd ya like it if a bunch o' Nazis found ya hittin' a tree and killed yer ass? Or worse, took ya as a prisoner o' war?"

He hit the tree one last time, a good _crack_ against the bark as a sort of sign of defiance before setting it down and facing Raine. Donny opened his mouth to speak, to insult Raine or to make a joke, but the lieutenant was already walking away.

Donny thought he had this all figured out. Go and kill Nazis, go home and you're a hero. Keep going to the synagogue with the knowledge you saved your uncle three times removed or something crazy like that.

Yet Raine was making this much more complicated than Donny liked.


	6. We're dyin' fast

Disclaimer: it all belongs to Tarantino. German translations at the bottom!

* * *

"Was machen Sie hier?"

Wicki's reply was hard to understand from Donny's position. One of the other guys was with him, Herschberg, standing silent, not speaking. Sending Stiglitz up with Wicki was too risky.

He listened to his breathing. In, out, hold for a moment, then in again.

"Warum brauchen Sie Essen? Sie sollten ausreichand fuer drei Wochen!" one of them barked. "Wo ist das Camp, Diedrich?"

Donny smirked. _Nice alias, Wicki. _They'd done their best to conceal Wicki and Herschberg, to make them look more like a bunch of Nazis who were on the move for a couple of weeks rather than the bastards they were. As the group became more and more infamous, the risk of being caught grew greater.

"Wir haben keine Zeit." one Nazi said dismissively. He was different from the first speaker- his voice was deeper. Donny could only see the back of his head- bald as a baby's...

This man was his target. He glanced to his left, where Raine was buried. He saw Raine nod and the _swoosh_ in his stomach returned.

Donny and Raine lept up on their haunches and crept, both pulling out their knives with a flourish. Was this what that game Raine was talking about, Cowboys and Indians, all about? Donny sure felt like an Indian, felt like the ones he saw in the paintings back home.

Then, they bolted. Donny wrapped his arm around the bald German's neck and slit the throat, blood spraying over his arms, his hand, on Herschberg's shoes. He watched the body stagger to the ground, a weak hand lifting in a lame attempt to staunch the wound, then lay unmoving. Blood rippled through the French ground, forming a morbid sort of river.

The four worked quickly to move the bodies out of sight, to hide them best as they could. Raine dusted off his hands on his pants before exchanging a look with Donny. "Got your baseball bat?"

Donny snorted. "Of course I do."

* * *

The young man had been right when he said there had only been twelve Krauts or so- including the two that Wicki and Herschberg had come across.

He was also right on the artillery, on the fact that they were a mere two miles outside a small town.

"Donny boy's already got one. Y'all owe me one scalp. Donny can have a little fun with whatever little shitter still clings to life."

Donny gaped. Raine was making him stay _behind? _Not the sergeant, no one made Sergeant Donowitz stand around and watch while his buddies got a piece of the action! "Lieutenant-" he started in a furious hush, but Raine shook his head, patting Donny on the shoulder.

"Don't worry, boys, we'll still have our entertainment."

Donny was more than sure that Stiglitz had seen him flinch under Raine's touch.

* * *

He circled the Nazi, gazing down into the dark green eyes with fury. "You a Jew killer?" he hissed, kicking the man in his bleeding shoulder. The man gasped, groped for his shoulder, to shoo Donny's foot away, but no response.

"You know what I'm gonna do right now?" No answer. The man was opening and closing his mouth, swallowing, trying desperately to breathe-

_Wham! _Wood met bone as a horrifying scream filled the air. Donny repeated the action, hitting the shoulder over and over again until the screams were silenced. "Gimme the other one!" he shouted, sprinting to the next dying soul. He repeated the action, putting the dying into as much pain as possible. The bat passed over wounds, knocked out teeth and eyes and other parts and blood was all over him, all over the bat.

This time, they were clapping. There was not the awkward silence of the first encounter, of the beating with the Garand. This was entertainment. Donny thought he heard Raine whistle.

He was leering in the last one's face, the bat under his arm. "Whatcha gonna do to me?" he spat in the face. "Can't kill me, can you?" The Nazi's lips peeled back in a snarl and he saw the hand move, grasp for something, but Donny was having too much fun. "Pretty pathetic, you just flunked outta being a lawyer or a banker or something, think you can make yourself look big killing my buddies-" he heard someone shout, two blasts. A sharp pain in his thigh.

Donny swore and rolled onto his back, clutching his leg. As if Zimmerman going and getting his hand almost shot off wasn't enough, now he had a bullet wound in his leg. He seethed as he heard the men's footsteps, heard one of them shoot the Nazi again for good measure. Raine's voice.

"What a little fucker!" Raine's arms lifted Donny up, the older man's hand taking Donny's and wrapping it around his shoulders for support. "All right.." a deep breath. "Anyone here good at diggin' bullet holes outta people?"

* * *

"Raine sure seems to have favorites." It was Omar. Donny kept his eyes shut, fingers barely touching the wrappings around the wound.

"Talking about Donowitz?" Stiglitz responded. A silence; Donny assumed Omar had nodded. "Can't disagree with that, Omar."

"'Course you can't." Utivich piped up. "But Donny's the sergeant, after all. He has more rank than any of us. Besides you, of course, Stiglitz." he added sheepishly.

"Doesn't matter." Donny was unsure what Stiglitz was responding to until the man continued. "The two met up in Italy, before any of you came along for this little expedition. I would gather that Donowitz is Raine's most trusted, rank aside."

Donny wanted to snort. He contemplated responding, saying something just to piss them all off, but the conversation veered away.

"So, how many scalps, Utivich?"

* * *

"How are you feeling, Donny?" Raine held out a dirty canister of water to the young man. He was crouched down so the two were eye-to-eye. So that Donny couldn't turn away.

"Fine. Was never that bad in the first place." he grumbled, taking a swig of the water before spitting it back out. "Yeesh, Raine, what kind of shit water you feeding me?" he wiped his mouth, irritated.

Raine shrugged, then glanced behind him. He pulled out a cigarette and lit it. "You smoke?"

Donny shook his head. "Not often." he admitted, setting the canteen down.

Raine smirked. "My last one. Gotta stop in that there town and get me some more or I'll go off the wall." he breathed out the smoke slowly before extending it to Donny. It was an offer, an offer to share the cigarette. _My last one._

Donny felt sick as he shook his head again. Raine stuck it back in his mouth. "Suit yourself." Before he knew it, Raine was rolling up Donny's pant leg. Donny's leg jerked in reaction.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

"Checkin' yer little boo-boo." Raine was smirking again.

"Your hands are fucking cold." Donny complained. This was a lie, of course, a comment meant to fill the air, to make it less strange and foreign to him. On the contrary- Raine's hands were large and very warm.

The hands unwrapped the bindings and threw them aside. Raine fished a roll of the stuff out of his pocket and set to binding it again. Unsure of what to do with himself, Donny stared at the old wrappings, covered in his dry blood turned black.

When his eyes moved away, he jumped. Raine's hand settled on his knee- "Jesus, Donny, calm down, you want this done or ya wanna bleed to death?"

Stiglitz was supposed to be on watch with Utivich, yet here he was, cold eyes watching him. Donny opened and closed his mouth soundlessly, feeling absurdly like the Nazi that he had beaten to death earlier. But Stiglitz had no bat in his hand, nor did he speak.

He didn't have to.

* * *

_Was machen Sie hier?- _What are you doing here?

_Warum brauchen Sie Essen? Sie sollten ausreichand fuer drei Wochen!_- Why do you need food? You should have enough for three weeks!

_Wo ist das Camp, Diedrich?-_ Where is the camp, Diedrich?

_Wir haben keine Zeit.-_ We have no time.


	7. Soon be over, and I will relent

Disclaimer: it all belongs to Tarantino. Reviews always appreciated, flames forwarded to Hans Landa!

* * *

Stiglitz stared at Donny throughout the morning, a strange look on his face- the young man didn't have a word for it. Nevertheless he found it nearly as offputting as Raine's glances.

"Got a problem, Stiglitz?" he asked smoothly as he carelessly threw the Garand in the truck. The man shifted from one foot to the other before leaning against the truck, hand clutching his own rifle.

"Do you know what they do to homosexuals here?" Stiglitz murmured, his voice a low growl. "They are arrested. They go to jail. Some even are thrown in the camps."

Donny looked at Stiglitz, bemused, then laughing, laughing until he felt tears rolling down his face.

"I'm serious, Donowitz." Stiglitz grabbed the younger man's arm and squeezed it hard. "You think I am joking? You think this is funny? If they really wanted to, they could throw you in a camp for being a Jew if they caught you, they wouldn't care if you were American. But homosexual as well?"

Donny shook his head- no, this wasn't right, Stiglitz was crazy. "What are you talking about, Stiglitz?" Donny lowered his own voice, wiping his face. "What you saw-that-no-" Donny shook his head desperately. But Stiglitz was still watching him, intently, eyes as cold and severe as the previous night. "He was changing the wrapping. Not like I wanted him to." he finished weakly.

"The actions of our lieutenant, and your own actions, I may add, speak volumes, my friend." the German responded, shutting the door as Donny scrambled in.

* * *

They stopped in the little town, their uniforms clean as possible. Wicki and Stiglitz, the latter pathetically disgused with ash in his hair and a few days' stubble, did the talking. The others found it easy to stand around and look superior while the rest of the French cowered and hid in their doorways.

The restaurant was small and run by an elderly couple. The food was far from decent- hell, Donny caught Utivich spitting indiscreetly into his napkin- yet, as always, better compared to the tinned meats.

The feeling in his stomach never seemed to subside. He felt an added tension surrounding him and took it out by glaring as ominously as possible at the other French diners. They didn't deserve it, and Donny didn't feel any better wearing the uniform of a disgusting Kraut- but he wasn't about to start yelling at Utivich for cleaning the remains of his plate onto his lap or nitpicking Omar for tapping his fork against his glass. If he was gonna play a role, he might as well play it to near perfection. Besides, they never knew who was in what side- it was all one big game without rules, without standards.

Was Stiglitz right? Now that he actually sat down and thought, he could not remember a time when he would chase girls around the street or took them out on measly dates. He didn't compare who was the best looking in their synagogue attire or flirt discreetly with them when he was at work. Donny had blamed it on the fact that he had grown up with them. They were his sisters, his neighbors- he never confessed to the thoughts his friends did late at night as they lay on the rooftops. Sure, Donny had laughed and made crude jokes, but never did he comment on the color of Ruth's eyes or the way Anna wore her hair.

The way Raine watched him, touched him. The excuses and lies about the rifle, about how Donny would supposedly himself to death. There was no reason to change the wrappings. None of this was right. He was paranoid.

He barely grabbed Zimmerman's empty soup bowl in time, the warm vomit splashing onto his knees and sleeves of his coat.

* * *

Plans. Raine was talking about plans.

The hotel was shabby and smelled like piss and old folks. The light in Raine and Donny's room was blinking on and off.

Stiglitz had not spared a glance at Donny as they all separated into rooms, although he was sure he saw Utivich look at him funny. Or did he? Was he just looking at the map Donny was twisting in his hand? No, he had looked at Donny funny. What did Utivich care about maps anyway? He didn't care about maps! What a stupid look on the kid's face. Who was he to go around giving his sergeant such a dumb look?

That would have earned him a black eye back home.

"..And that's about it." Raine finished, lifting his hands into the air and smiling. "Sound good to ya, sergeant?"

Donny nodded, fingers working anxiously to release him from the Nazi uniform. He felt suffocated by it; the mere action of wearing the clothes made him feel dirty and low. "Sounds fine fuckin' dandy." he smirked. "Now can we get someone to fix the damn light?"

"Ya crazy, boy?" Raine shook his head as he folded up the map. "We'll get caught. Migh'swell deal with it fer a night. Ever'one's good and quiet today, I'm thinkin' we can pull it off as long as we leave fast. Skidaddle."

The light was dimming, fast. Donny's heart pounded in his chest- "so loud that the President can hear!" as mamma used to say. _Don't go out, don't go out, fuck, stay lit-_

But it seemed that Donny's wishes never went answered.

The both of them stood, Raine with a grunt, Donny's knees cracking. The pounding had spread to his ears, back to his head. It even felt like his fingers were trembling from the movement in his heart.

"Don't trip." the voice was amazingly soft- kind, even, like how mamma used to speak when he was little and would hide under the bed from the thunder storms. It wasn't how a lieutenant should speak.

"Just don't touch me, Raine." Donny snapped, his voice low as possible. There were footsteps outside the door, if anyone recognized they were speaking a language that sure as shit didn't sound German...

After a moment, a laugh. "Sure ya don't want my help?" the hands pressed down on his shoulders, making Donny feel impossibly small. "Gotta obey your superiors, sergeant."

"How much did you drink?" Donny asked suspiciously. The laugh again, that stupid laugh! Donny smelled smoke, maybe even a little chocolate, but no alcohol. He felt one of the hands move slowly, the fingers barely lingering over his collarbone. "Raine, what the hell-"

The mouth had closed over his before he could create an organized thought. The pounding suddenly subsided as the weight in his stomach shifted, all of it remolding into a rush of blood to his head. He felt light, the weight melting away into something entirely different. The hand on his collar moved to the back of his neck, the cool lips moving over his. Donny stood there, unresponsive, his fingers twitching.

But he could not turn away. In that dark hotel room, Donny Donowitz did not dare respond to Aldo Raine, but he could not turn away. And when the lieutenant finally let go, the young man felt himself pushing the Southerner away, his legs turned to mush as he stumbled to his bed and buried himself beneath the flimsy blanket, his fingers running over his lips.

As Donny lay trembling under the blankets, he decided that the war was winning; slowly, Donny was crumbling.


	8. Let the ocean swell,dissolve way my past

Disclaimer: it all belongs to Tarantino. Reviews always appreciated, flames forwarded to Hans Landa!

This is a really short update, I apologize. Next chapter will be much longer, promise!

* * *

Someone was knocking on the door. Donny groaned and rolled over; who the hell was knocking this damn early? Couldn't they get some_ rest_ for once in their lives? It was probably Stiglitz or Wicki, had to be one of those two. He squinted and saw Raine answering the door. Heat rose in his face as he remembered what his lieutenant had done last night. Would Stiglitz know? He couldn't, of course he couldn't, he wasn't a mind reader. He couldn't tell by looking at Donny. Could he?

The voices were hushed. Donny found himself focusing on Raine's voice, the strangely comforting way he drawled- how had he hated it? All it did now was make him sleepy again. He liked listening to Raine speak. Something about hurrying up, getting to another dingy little French town. Donny debated falling back asleep again; he wouldn't have the chance to rest in the coming days, hew knew that. Besides, he'd probably be able to get his hands on some coffee...

Then someone yanked his pillow from underneath him.

Donny yelped and sat up, fists wringing the mangy comforter. "Dammit, Raine, can't ya let a guy sleep?" Raine was smirking, the pillow slung over his shoulder as a sort of cheap imitation of how Donny carried his beloved bat.

"Sleep good? Good. Get up."

Tentatively Donny slid out of the bed, changing quickly as possible, trying not to turn around and see if Raine was watching him. His suspenders, however, did not work well with his fumbling fingertips. "Damn cheap pieces of crap-"

"Christ, Donny." Raine took the hooks from Donny's hands and hooked them to the inside buttons. "Dunno how hard it is to hook suspenders, boy. Christ, don't look at me like that!" he scoffed, stuffing a hand in his pocket. Probably searching for the stupid snuff box again.

"Maybe you should have thought before you thought it was a good idea to- to-" Donny shook his head. "Forget it, Raine. I'm not gonna act like a damn girl." he mumbled. Raine regarded him silently before pressing a hand against Donny's face. He jumped in surprise at the action, wide eyes searching Raine's face for explanation.

"Ya shoulda thought of that last night, dontcha think?" he asked in a low tone. He was right, Donny admitted to himself. When wasn't the lieutenant right? Raine smiled. "Gotcha." the man's thumb grazed Donny's cheekbone lightly, gently feeling the stubble there.

"You're not acting like yourself." Donny said shakily. "Sure you're not hung over?" It was a lame attempt at a joke, but he had nothing else he could say. He put his hands in his pockets, hoping it would hide the fact that they were trembling. He was unnerved, anxious.

Raine laughed. "Could say the same for you, buddy. Ya haven't swatted my hand away like most chicks do." Donny scowled. "Aw, sorry, Donny. Ya know how we rednecks are." the man leaned in closer, his eyes hungry.

"Aldo, i-if someone opens t-that door.." Donny stammered. His superior nodded and sighed, taking his hand away from Donny's face. Aldo stuffed his boots on his feet and opened the door, muttering something to himself. Donny was still standing in the same spot, utterly confused by his superior's sudden actions. Aldo glanced back at him.

"Comin'? Or would ya rather be discovered as the only American Nazi in this godforsaken country?"


	9. Three days, and maybe longer

Disclaimer: it all belongs to Tarantino. Reviews always appreciated, flames forwarded to Hans Landa! :D

* * *

Donny breathed out of his nose_._ One, two, three. His legs were still shaking.

_Nothin' wrong about it._

_You fuckin' crazy? Someone will hear._

_Donny, calm the fuck down. Quit being so paranoid._

He _had_ been paranoid. Aldo had assumed he meant the other men would hear or, worse, spot them; he had been half right, of course. But Stiglitz's words had haunted him, and as they had scoured for the most secluded area they could, the fear of discovery by Krauts loomed.

_I am calm, Aldo, you're the one gettin' me all riled up-_

_That's the point, Donny boy. Now keep yer mouth shut for a minute, would ya?_

Later, Donny would feel slightly guilty for the fact that they had made their watch duties to something much more personal and intimate. Shit, what if the guys got shot or something? He was their sergeant, Aldo their lieutenant. What they were doing was, technically, irresponsible.

But he couldn't deny what they did had been time well spent.

Afterwords, they didn't lay in each other's arms or talk to each other. They had helped each other dress, the scents of sex and smoke lingering on their bodies. Aldo had initiated their last kiss for that night, not nearly so aggressive as he had been earlier, as he slung Donny's rifle over his back.

Aldo had grunted things to Donny that would make even _him_, the Bear Jew, want to blush in a normal situation. It was not so much the nature of the words that bothered the young man as it was what it revealed. Donny reminded himself this was a war, and there was not a lot else to think about aside from survival and who you were going to kill next. Perhaps this was why he found it strange that Aldo had thought about him, _wanted _him, even, for weeks now. He thought back to the past weeks- he had first wounded his leg three weeks ago now. Did it start then, when Aldo had peeled away the fabric of his pants under the guise of replacing the bindings?

Or had it been earlier than that, when Aldo proposed a truce, that they were even? He _had_ taken Donny's Garand that day despite the fact that he had no use for it. Yes, the Bear Jew decided, it must have been then.

As he felt Aldo's hand rest on his collarbone, another thought struck him- what about _him?_ He felt Aldo's tongue press gently against his own and pushed the thought away. Shit, what did that matter? Pop always said to stay in the present and leave old ghosts alone. Maybe the old man had been right for once.

* * *

The Bostonian found himself distancing himself from Stiglitz, from Omar, from Utivich. He didn't need them, after all. Their conversations at breakfast were awkward when Donny was around, what with Stiglitz staring at him with that cold look in his eyes.

Aldo was a good actor. He evaded each of Stiglitz's rigorous questions with success, with the mere use of a smile or joke or offer of a cigarette. Donny was growing to resent him despite their friendship; his growing need to understand exactly _what_ was going on between Aldo and himself. He was sure that Stiglitz knew what they did, regardless of whether or not they had watch during the night. Shit, the guy seemed to know everything.

The closer they came to the village, however, the more fleeting their nights became; Aldo too had come to realize the danger they placed themselves in. It didn't stop the stares, the random touches, the words murmured into his ear.

Donny found he had become much more brutal with the Krauts he killed. Part was hatred, the need to see them suffer for what they did, the sick enjoyment it brought him. He was overwhelmed, became someone entirely different- a guy with no morals, no brain, nothing. All he could think of was revenge.

Mostly, he just wanted to please Aldo. He wanted to hear his lieutenant's applause above the jeers and laughter of the others, wanted to see him nod and walk up to the body, insult it. He wanted the praise he received for how many scalps he had collected.

Donny craved the approval of his lieutenant more than anything else. He craved the man's touch, the marks Aldo's fingers made in the blood sprayed across his face and neck and chest. It was a sick obsession on Aldo's part, but this was war; so didn't that forgive everything Aldo did to him? Didn't that make up for the bruises on his thighs, the scratches on his back?

He wondered one night, sitting with Omar on watch, if this war would ever end. And if it did, would he go back to Boston, leaving the ghost of the Bear Jew somewhere in France? Would Aldo come with him? Or would life return to normalcy, their affairs never spoken of unless it was in the dingy bars of restaurants- "Remember the Basterds"?

It made Donny shudder. Better not to think of this war ending, better to think of the whole damn world falling apart before this storm ever blew over. He couldn't go back to Boston, couldn't separate the Bear Jew from little Donny Donowitz, the faithful baseball player, son of the owner of the deli in good old Bean Town.

He couldn't go back without Aldo the Apache.


	10. Won't even know I've left

Disclaimer: it all belongs to Tarantino. Reviews always appreciated, flames forwarded to Hans Landa!

This is my last update for a couple of days, as I will be on vacation. Never fear :) because in my free time I'll probably be writing, so by the time I get home I should have an update for you all!

* * *

_"Donny, come on already, buddy! We's goin' out to the field to play some baseball!" Murphy shouted at the window. Donny was slumped in a chair, staring at a clock. "Come on, Donny, don't tell me ya gonna miss out on this!"_

_The high-backed chair obviously wasn't helping, he was still plenty visible, and he sure wasn't going to stand up and close the curtains on Murphy and the guys. _Just ignore 'em,_ Donny told himself. _Pretend they're not even there._ He could hear them grumbling, then finally retreating, their shoes scuffing the ground loudly in an attempt to guilt Donny._

_The little knife in his right hand, Donny balanced the bat on his knees and started carving names._

_He put Murphy's name right on the handle._

_

* * *

_

The village was called Nadine. They had exchanged the Nazi uniforms for the dress of French civilians, hoping to blend more. Besides, what Germans would be here, in Nadine? As Aldo had put it, the place was too damn small. A Kraut wouldn't care about a place like Nadine.

Aldo had briefly explained the plan to the others; Donny, Stiglitz, and Wicki knew the details well enough, didn't need another briefing.

He had been thinking about Murphy again. The Irish boy. He'd left to go to war before Donowitz, had enlisted in the Marines. He had told Donny he was marrying some girl when he got back from the Pacific, that they were gonna leave Boston and find a better house and have a family and everything.

It had bothered Donny, the thought of Murphy getting married and actually settling down. He had laughed and made some joke. Murphy had laughed too. After Murphy had gone and the baseball games ceased, Donny felt uncomfortable with the man's absence.

Well, shit. He was just starting to understand everything.

He followed Stiglitz into the little hotel; apparently, the Brit had made it their meeting space. The sergeant couldn't help but cringe at its appearance, its slimy dark bricks and mucky windows looking out onto the street.

"Kinda creepy, isn't it?" Utivich was next to him, hands trembling. He felt bad for the Little One, a twinge of guilt hitting his stomach as he realized how he had neglected the kid in the past weeks. He sure acted tough, didn't mind collecting scalps, but Donny was sure inside he was crumbling. _We're not so different, _Donny realized, flinging an arm around Utivich.

"Don't worry 'bout it, kid."

* * *

_Someone was crying. It was late at night and someone was fucking _crying.

_Donny rubbed his eyes and sat up, kicking the flimsy standard-issue blanket away from him before sitting up. It was coming from someone laying across from him- Utivich._

_He crawled over using his elbows before leaning over the huddled mass. It was shaking, the blanket pulled over the head and shoulders while leaving the lower half of the body exposed. Poor Utivich. He had the most unfortunate nickname of them all- the Little Man, the Little One. He had the least amount of scalps. Why the shit was he crying?_

_"Hey." Donny spoke as softly as he could, remembering how mamma used to talk to him, how Aldo spoke in their few intimate moments. He tapped the shoulder a couple of times. "Hey buddy, what's up?"_

_Utivich gasped, lifting his head up to face his sergeant. "Sorry, Donny." he hiccuped. "I d-didn't mean t-to-I w-was just-" the young man wiped his face clear of tears, obviously frustrated by his weakness, especially in front of Donny Donowitz. You don't cry in front of Aldo, much less Donny._

_Donny shook his head. "Stay quiet, would ya? Don't want Aldo hearin' you, or Stiglitz for that matter." he patted Utivich's shoulder again. "Don't explain, it's fine, buddy."_

_Utivich nodded, blue eyes bleary. It was strange, having the guy who runs around beating Nazis with baseball bats telling you everything would be okay, that you would survive and make it out to see home. But it helped him sleep that night, the nights after._

_

* * *

_

Donny didn't like this Frau Von Hammersmark. The sound of her name made him think about an old lady with moles and squinty eyes. Hell, she'd fit right in with the hotel and its creaky, stained beds, the rickety floorboards. He was laying sprawled over one of those stained beds now, hand on his stomach, arm behind his head as support- no way in hell was he letting his head touch those pillows.

Stiglitz, Wicki, and the Brit had left for the little restaurant to meet up with her. Utivich was pacing, every now and then glancing his wide blue eyes at Donny. He returned a smile that was as comforting a grin a Bear Jew could give; it seemed to settle his nerves. Aldo was frowning, creases in his forehead; Omar sharing a pack of cigars he had picked up with one of the other guys.

"Stop the fuckin' pacin', Utivich, would ya?" he growled, crossing his arms. "Makin' us all goddamned nervous."

Utivich cringed and apologized, looked around anxiously before deciding his best bet was to simply sit on the floor. "Sorry, lieutenant." he repeated. "Just worried, you know, something goes wrong-"

"Just shut up, Utivich." Aldo snapped, rubbing his face with his hands. Utivich silenced, chewed on the inside of his cheek.

"Leave the kid alone, Aldo." Donny frowned. "He's just nervous, what do you want him to do?"

Aldo glowered. "He's a full grown man, last time I checked." His eyes swept the room. "Which reminds me..gotta situation with the big boys back home, Donowitz." it was a hint for the others to leave- a kinder way of saying _get the fuck outta here._

The door closed. Donny breathed through his nose again. _One, two, three.._

He felt the flimsy bed shift weight, creaking dangerously. "Think this lil' shit's gonna break?" the voice in his ear was husky. The lips against his skin were warm, peeling back the old jacket.

"Dammit, Aldo-" Donny murmured. He thought he felt a chuckle against his neck. The older man loosened the jacket before pinning his arms to the mattress. For a brief moment, Donny's mind wandered to Murphy, wondered if he was alive and still intent on marrying that girl. Then he gasped, blood shooting down somewhere low on his body, and he could think nothing else but of the man hovering above him.

"Aldo the Apache catches the Bear Jew," the older man rasped. "Sounds damn good to me."


	11. Under your tongue, I'm like a tab

Disclaimer: it all belongs to Tarantino. Reviews always appreciated, flames forwarded to Hans Landa!

BACK from vacation..and guess what? _Nearly_ finished this story! So expect a lot of updates. Long car rides come in handy, no?

* * *

The shooting was coming from the direction of the basement.

Donny sat up so quickly his head bumped, hard, against Aldo's chin. The older man swore and removed his hands from their place at Donny's thighs to clutch his injured face.

"Fuck, somethin' didn't go right," he muttered, throwing Donny off his lap to grab his clothes. The younger man rolled off the bed and did the same, glancing anxiously out the window in time to Aldo's raging comments.

"Stay with Utivich," Aldo ordered, pulling his handgun out. "I'm bringin' Omar and Herschberg with me." he headed toward the door, Donny pulling on his jacket as he trailed behind. Aldo paused a moment, as if he were listening for something, before wrapping an arm around Donny's waist and pulling him closer, the hand holding the gun groping the wound in his leg, his face buried in the pale neck.

He waited until he heard the sufficient groan from Donny before thrusting open the door, grinning like a damn wildcat. Donny huffed through his nose and marched out after the lieutenant.

* * *

_Stiglitz was watching. It was making Donny feel real uncomfortable, having the older man watch Aldo whisper into Donny's ear. Kind of like how a wolf watches a rabbit from the bushes- never attacking, merely plotting. The others, in their naivety, would presume it was something meant only for those two to discuss. Tactics, perhaps, that would later be shared with the group._

_But tactics- at least, military tactics- did not usually involve Donny's eyes gleaming like that, didn't make Aldo cock an eyebrow and clear his throat. Military tactics didn't make Donny look away, they made him look forward with more anticipation._

_Stiglitz cracked his knuckles and spat on the ground._

_

* * *

_

He was sitting near the doorway leading into the street with Utivich, both growing increasingly impatient. Utivich in particular seemed on edge, his large blue eyes combing the street for something, any hint of what was going on. Now and then they traveled to Donny's face before flitting away, embarrassment written across his face. His hands moved like birds from his face to the Garand, then the Garand would fall to the floor and he would run his fingers over the edge of one of the windows.

"Ants in the pants, Utivich?" Donny asked, smirking as he unloaded and re-loaded the stolen rifle. He wasn't sure why he did it- he was bored, maybe, and didn't want to be a mirror image of the kid sitting across from him. Didn't want the Little One know he was nervous as fuck, too.

"You got a-" Utivich's voice faltered, then he decided _visuals_ would work better. His index and middle fingers tapped against his neck, then moved to the hollow at his throat before he quickly moved his eyes and his hands to the floor.

"Oh." Donny's own hand shot up to cover the marks the kid had indicated. "Thought the jacket covered 'em good enough," he grumbled.

"Stiglitz told me." Utivich suddenly admitted. His eyes were wider than usual, his arms settled over the Garand. "About you and Aldo, I mean," he added, rather unnecessarily.

What was he supposed to say? Donny couldn't deny it. Stiglitz had known nearly right away, and he wasn't surprised he had told one of the men about it; quite frankly, the fact Stiglitz had told _only _Utivich was astounding, and Donny had to wonder how the others had never noticed.

It was as if Utivich had read his thoughts during those moments of silence. "The other guys are suspicious, yeah, but they haven't really said much about it, only Stiglitz and I know for sure. He didn't want to tell the others, because, well, you know, if word gets around they might not be too comfortable-" the kid was rambling to fill the quiet air, to assure Donny.

"You think of your sergeant any differently for it?" Donny interrupted darkly. He felt his stomach drop when Utivich affirmed the question.

"I mean no offense or anything." Utivich said quickly, his hands fluttering in the air. "It explains the way you both have been acting lately, I guess. You sure haven't been talking to us much, and it's a good time watching you, but..lately, you beating those Germans into the ground gets a little.." Utivich shuddered. "Scary, I guess. Like it's right out of some nightmare or something."

"That's not because of Aldo!" Donny responded indignantly.

"When was the last time you purposely got brains and shit all over your buddies?" Utivich prodded. Donny became silent once more, mulling over Utivich's accusations. The kid was wrong, Donny hadn't changed..had he?

"You have a girl back home?" the sergeant asked suddenly. The shaking of the kid's head confirmed Donny's suspicions. "Didn't think so."

"Nor do you." Utivich said accusingly. Donny snorted and agreed, pulling out a cigarette. "Since when do you smoke?"

Donny paused in lighting, his fingers lingering. "Come on, Utivich. Now you're gettin' ridiculous." Utivich's eyes became unnaturally hard, and he turned away, hands resting once more on his knees.

* * *

_"When ya gonna be back, Murphy?"_

_"Come on, the _Marines? _Shoulda gone with the Navy!" someone laughed._

_"Goin' to the Pacific? Shit, that's gonna be one hell of a ride-"_

_Murphy had shrugged, laughed, responded to the questions and comments, yet Donny had said nothing. Murphy was leaving, he would leave, all their friends would be gone. __He felt a strange surge of jealousy when Murphy's girl Sally wrapped her lithe arms around his neck. The_ Irishman turned his eyes on his friend, worry etched on his face as he wrapped an arm around Sally's waist.

_"All right, Donny boy?"_

_

* * *

_

_Aldo never whispered. Rather, he would lower his voice to a growl, a rasp, a murmur. But never a whisper- it was too kind, too soft._

_After their initial encounters, Aldo lost his tenderness with Donny and had become more dominating over the younger man. They would retreat further into the forests, covered the truck with more blankets, lock the doors, in attempts to muffle their noise. Donny found himself wearing the worn-out leather jacket more and more often until the visible marks on his neck and collarbone had faded into believable excuses._

_The bruises around his wound, however, had grown. Technically, Donny should have been bothered by this. Realistically, Aldo would have said or done something about it. But they knew this was virtual suicide- it would require explanation that would lead to more questions, greater suspicion._

_He'd asked one night as Aldo's hand ran over the wound roughly why he had such a sick fascination with it. "I like mistakes," Aldo had smirked, breathing his smoker's breath into Donny's ear._

_It was strange, how fine Aldo felt with it all. Donny had become uncomfortable, nervous even. What did he call the two of them- a relationship? Or were they in something much more shallow and selfish?_

_Had he always felt this way? He remembered Murphy's jokes when Donny would seem far away while cutting his hair. "Thinking about the girls, Donny? Or should I say the boys?" and Donny would laugh with Murphy and the other guys, knowing it was just a joke, don't let it bother you, but when you go home at night it's all right to scream into your pillow because you're frustrated and don't understand what you feel and how bad you feel when you go to the synagogue with all those bad thoughts._

_Was it a feeling always nestled inside him that was just now making its way through his veins, intoxicating his heart and his mind? Or was it a product of circumstances? He felt Aldo's nails dig into his shoulder and breathed- _one, two, three-_ better to let Aldo have some fun and you can think about it later when he's sleeping so for once in your life you can have a good cry, because the Bear Jew doesn't do that kind of stuff._


	12. Give what you're not supposed to have

Disclaimer: it all belongs to Tarantino. Reviews always appreciated, flames forwarded to Hans Landa!

* * *

**Manhattan**

**Fall 1949**

It's been five years. I'm watchin' Utivich real close, makin' sure he don't do anything too stupid.

Which, of course, is stupid itself. I mean, I'm in _his _home, why should I have to watch him? Maybe it's 'cause I still have this need to protect the kid, he's the only survivor who was under my command. He's not even thirty, he's still just a tyke.

He's fidgetin' is what he's doin'. Uncomfortable with me here, probably. He's sittin' in a real big chair that makes him look even smaller than he already is. Or he's nervous his pa will find us here- I haven't met the mangy shit yet, an' I don't plan on it either. I take a gulp of my whiskey, waitin' for him to talk.

"Aldo, just take the damn thing. I don't deserve it, you and I both know that." he says insistently. He's twenty-nine, but damn, he looks older. He's got dark rings under his eyes an' there's a tremor in his hand.

I snort into my whiskey. "What are you talkin' about? Me? He didn't wan' me to have it in the first place, why take it after five years?" Utivich doesn't move. Seems almost like he's sinkin' into his chair. "Little fucker never cared." I continue. "He didn't care the way I did."

Utivich still hasn't said nothin'- it's safe to assume that Aldo the Apache has yet again won an argument.

"This is gonna sound real sappy," Utivich takes a deep breath, "but shit, he loved you. I could tell, even Stiglitz could tell. What happened that night-"

"Actions speak louder than words, kid, haven't ya heard that sayin' before?"

Utivich sighs and scratches his ear. "You think war makes us different, Aldo? If you saw Donny, I don't know, playing baseball with his friends somewhere in Boston, would you have even looked at him?"

It's a random question, and I sure don't like it. "Sure," I answer uneasily. "But I guarantee it wasn't- wouldn't be the same way around."

"Yes, it would have," Utivich argues. "What happened the night before Kino doesn't matter. No matter what you like to think, Aldo, Donny would still-"

"Ya fuck he would!" I laugh bitterly. "We hated each other, Utivich, before any a'you guys came along. We hated each other- no, _he _hated me after that night."

"Can't say I blame him," Utivich says darkly.

There's a halt in our conversation before he continues. "You're like my father. You'll accuse Donny of everything and anything you can think of, especially with him dead and unable to defend himself. You wouldn't care about his side of the story, whether he was dead or alive, because you're so damn set in your ways."

I'm like his father? Well, shit, that's a high offense. Even a rich-ass snob like Robert Utivich can treat his kid like shit and spit on his wife's grave. I'm no Bobby Utivich, and I'm not gonna let the kid call the shots in this argument.

"Donny left it in my care, yes," Donny continues, "But it was out of anger, and can you blame him? What would you have done, Aldo?"

I wish I had more whiskey. Damn it, Aldo, why did you recruit this kid? Utivich hands me a little picture of Donny. "His mom gave this to me when I visited Boston. I guess they were moving out and..well, just gave it to me. A thank-you for telling them and stuff, I guess."

It was taken right before Donny left- I can tell because his hair looks freshly cut and everything. I chuckle and wonder if he did it himself. His lips are straight and he looks stern with his back so rigid and all. But I can still see a grin lurkin' somewhere in that face of his. I linger over the picture for another second before looking back up at the kid.


	13. Under my breath I swear by sin

Disclaimer: it all belongs to Tarantino. Reviews always appreciated, flames forwarded to Hans Landa!

_

* * *

_

_He had gotten that Kraut pissed. It had been amusing, listening to him jabber and spit at Donny. _

_This time, Donny wasn't gonna use the Garand. This time, he had his bat. This time, it would be entertainment. He wrapped his hand around one of the names- Murphy- and tapped the mans shoes, ankles, shoulders with it. Everyone around him was silent, save the panicking Nazi. The man squirmed, anticipating what was going to happen next- after all, what else could the bat be for?_

_Herschberg and Zimmerman had tied him to a tree at the base of the little hill; everyone had a view. In an absurd way Donny felt like he was on a stage, the guys sitting on the hill his audience while he and the Nazi were the matinee. Omar had snickered that it was just like the movie theaters back home- but better._

_"Do you know," Donny breathed just loud enough for the guys to hear, "how much fun I'm gonna have?"_

_The Nazi gulped._

_

* * *

_

_He was trying hard not to fall asleep. He was so tired, goddammit, why was Aldo torturing him into being on watch tonight? Donny stifled a yawn and blinked, balancing the rifle across his knees._

_"Thinkin' about me?" It was none other than the bootleggin' bastard himself. Donny scowled and knocked Aldo's hand from his shoulder._

_"Don't I get a little beauty rest now and then or what?"_

_Aldo laughed and wrapped his arm around Donny's shoulders again. "Fuck no. Just watch." He dug around in his pocket and threw something on Donny's laugh. "Cheese, swiped it from the kitchens after we got done scarin' the shit outta those cooks and the manager."_

_Donny remembered. They'd been caught by the Frenchies and it sure took plenty of rounds of convincing and threatening to make sure they'd keep their mouths shut. He opened the little package slowly, his eyes surveying the dark woods around them._

_Aldo's grip tightened on his shoulder momentarily before moving away. He released the breath he had been holding-_ one, two, three_- before popping the cheese in his mouth and resting his head against the tree trunk._

_

* * *

_

_A week before they had arrived in Nadine. Donny, circling another Nazi. This one wasn't a squealer. No matter how much poking and prodding Donny did, the bastard wouldn't speak, wouldn't open his mouth a bit. Frustrated, Donny pursed his lips and turned to Omar and Utivich, impatiently waving them over._

_"Hold him by the arms," the sergeant commanded, pointing to the man on the ground with his bat. The Nazi's eyes widened as he twisted his head to look at Utivich, then Omar, then back at Donny._

_"Mercy!" he finally cried. "Please, sir-"_

_"Mercy?" Donny shouted, leaning forward on his bat as if it were a cane. He paused, then heaved the bat over his shoulder, slamming it full force into the man's stomach. The man's legs crumbled under him and he dry-heaved. "Pull him back up!" Donny screamed._

_Another blow multiplied into five, ten, twenty. The Kraut was yanked up over and over again by the two Bastards until he heard a strange popping noise from his left shoulder._

_Donny crouched down now, breathing fast and hard, his adrenaline pumping through his entire being. The man's head was bowed, slippery with blood and spit and sweat. "You still want mercy?" Donny whispered, speaking just loud enough for Aldo to hear._

_The man raised his head, one eye twitching, his mouth hanging open and loose like a dummy, like he had no control over his body. Donny took a step back and aimed straight between the eyes._

_Later Aldo would take Donny into the truck while the others ate dinner, the body mutilated and forgotten; all that mattered was the reward, the hard kisses to his neck, the struggle to free the sergeant of his bloodied clothes._


	14. For better or for worse, a best we began

Disclaimer: it all belongs to Tarantino. Reviews always appreciated, flames forwarded to Hans Landa!

* * *

"Morphine!" Donny screamed, growing more and more impatient by the moment. This fucking vet didn't get it, what was there to get? "We need _morphine!_" he started shooting the dogs in the cages, their whimpers drowned in Donny's screaming for morphine.

The man was shaking his hands in front of his face, wincing and saying something in French. He looked frail and tired, aged faster by the occupation and constant fear- in other words, it was something to play on. Donny huffed and shot another dog until the man squeaked and ran out the door, tripping over his slippered feet.

Donny stuffed the gun back in his pocket and shook his head at Aldo. The lieutenant had hooked his thumbs in his pockets and was chewing on his lip, watching von Hammersmark closely, eyes narrowed.

He had been dwelling on memories earlier, even when he was screaming bloody murder at the doctor. He remembered the first Kraut he killed with the bat as well as its most recent victim. Remembering what came after with Aldo made his breath hitch and he had to swallow and blink a couple of times to bring himself back to the present. He did it so often now; the time had gone fast and slipped through his fingers. How long had it been? A year? Or was it longer? Their numbers had dwindled over the course of time too.

With a jolt, he remembered Wicki and Stiglitz. He'd been shocked, seeing their dead bodies- he'd grown close to all the men, and Donny was not startled by death. But having Stiglitz, who seemed immortal and invincible, dead on the floor...

His eyes flickered over to Utivich and his bloodstained shirt. Poor kid had stared at Stiglitz's dead body, paralyzed. Where the blood on his shirt came from Donny didn't know- then he saw the dagger Utivich was twirling silently in his hands. He caught Donny staring and slipped it into his pocket wordlessly, placing his hand on the chair next to him.

"Hitler will be attending the premiere."

Donny's mind froze as the words hit him. Everything spoken before had been a whirl, a murmur. But that couldn't be possible- Hitler? The Top Dog himself? "What?" he gaped. "Fuck a _duck!"_ His eyes traveled immediately to Aldo in disbelief, yet the lieutenant's glance assured him it was all true, all fucking true.

This wasn't right, none of it was right. Things were spinning out of control too fast for the sergeant to comprehend, to grasp. Operation Kino was a blow-

"Do _any _of you Americans speak any other language?" von Hammersmark inquired, her shoulders slumped with frustration.

"We speak a little Italian," Donny offered, jabbing a thumb in Aldo's direction.

* * *

_"Ya know what they call Italian back home?"_

_Donny rolled his eyes and reached for his beer. "Considering I'm not from a rednecked shitpile, I can't give you an answer, Raine." he snapped. Donny hadn't slept in a week- Kagan's snoring was enough to wake up a dead horse- and he wasn't in the mood for trivial conversations with the lieutenant._

_Raine put the snuff box carefully back in his pocket. "Whiny little shit," he muttered , addressing the wall behind Donny. "Try an' teach them somethin' an' they bite your fuckin' head off!"_

_

* * *

_

Aldo spoke the most Italian? It was a joke- if Aldo spoke any Italian other than spaghetti, Donny would go up to Hitler himself and hold up a white flag. Granted, Donny's own knowledge of the language was limited- he maybe knew a handful of real words, but like von Hammersmark said- Krauts didn't know Italian too well, he could just make stuff up.

Utivich was panicking as he explained he didn't have a license- he couldn't even turn on a car. The sergeant heard the condescending tone in Aldo's voice as he informed Utivich he was going to learn damn fast; he even picked up the laugh hiding in the lieutenant's throat. The Little Man was frowning to the floor, unable to face the rest of them.

* * *

_"I don't have time for incompetent sergeants." Raine had snapped, kicking his boots up onto the table. "So either you start actin' like the thirty-two year old you are or you can go home and have your mamma feed you some nice food and shit."_

_Donny's eyes became cold. "I didn't come here for that." he hissed. "If anyone's getting pampered around here it's you, _sir._ Sorry, _sir, _but I've had the pleasure of doing all your damn work for you!"_

_

* * *

_

Then it hits him. It hits Donny Donowitz harder than the shell that had dug itself in his leg- he was going to die. He attempted to swallow but caught only the dry air. He knew it would happen, he had planned he would die one day.

But he didn't think it would be Aldo to put the death sentence over his head.

Aldo walked next to him as they exited the room, Utivich and Omar behind him. "I need to talk to you," he whispered urgently. "Shit, Aldo, none of this is going to go right-"

"Shut up, would you?" Aldo sighed. He turned around and threw Utivich the keys. "Take the truck out back or somethin' where no one's gonna bother us. Ya got four hours."


	15. Let the sun climb, burn away my mask

Disclaimer: it all belongs to Tarantino. Reviews always appreciated, flames forwarded to Hans Landa!

* * *

**Manhattan**

Utivich stands and wipes his palms back an' forth across his pants. "Hang on, I put it somewhere my father wouldn't find it and throw it out or something." he disappears down the long white hallway, leavin' me with the portrait of Donny. I feel real out of place here, like a dirt stain on some nice fancy vase. Manhattan is too nice for a guy like Aldo, whether I go by Aldo the Apache or Aldo Raine. I'm not suited for a place like this.

Shit. I knew things were wrong from the moment, five years ago, the kid an' me came home. I mean, how do guys like us get along with regular civilians again?

We don't, an' I know that firsthand. I'm sure Utivich knows too, his letters told me that. I shoulda known things would be different, that my relationship with my ma, the guys, Lucy would change.

But Lucy doesn't matter anymore. She never mattered in the first place, don't know why I'm just figuring that out now. Lee- well, he's only four, an' I can't blame him for anything, can I? He can't help the fact I'm his old man. It's better I stay away from the both of 'em, and that's just what I've been doing. Lucy doesn't try to understand, an' Lee asks too many questions on account of his buddies' parents, knowing what I did an' all. He'll learn from them, not me.

I knew things would go downhill real fast when I found out about Lucy and the baby- around that time she heard me mumblin' Donny's name at night. She'd ask about it right away in the morning and I'd dodge those questions as best as I could. I thought I had it made, that she'd leave it alone- but Lucy wasn't an idiot. Three months later she moved out and went back to her folks'.

After that I became an insomniac. But it wasn't on accident or anything, I did it on purpose. It kept the nightmares away, the nightmares that didn't come when I fell flat asleep on the porch in the middle of the goddamn day.

They always had to do with Donny, though, not random dead bodies or nothin' like some of the guys back in Tennessee had. I'd wake up sweatin' up a storm, and by the time I calmed down I was furious with myself for thinking about him.

Donny Donowitz was the past and had nothing to do with Aldo Raine. Donny Donowitz was dead as a fuckin' doorknob. It was a comfort to remind myself that. Donny wouldn't knock on my door in Tennessee, Donny wouldn't send me a letter from Boston.

But there was still Utivich. And Utivich wasn't gonna let me escape Donny. He sent me letters over the years, every now and then I sent him a little somethin' back. I even sent him a big ol' bottle of moonshine in the winter. I wonder if he ever drank the stuff; if he did he probably landed himself in the hospital. Happy fuckin' Hanukkah.

He kept beggin' me to come up to Manhattan. I kept making excuses about Lee, about Lucy, about how I hated the city. But he wouldn't leave it alone. He said I needed to come, that it was important. If I had known it had to do with the damn bat and Donny, I wouldn't have come all this way.

Five years, and I'm still holdin' on to this grudge. I should be ashamed, as Utivich has made clear. But with the minutes ticking by, I feel numb. Memories of Donny are just that- memories that don't matter. I've convinced myself over the years that nothing really happened between us, so that the reminders of the things we did and the words I spoke to him are nothing more than myth.

But facing the greatest reminder of Donowitz could ruin all that.

* * *

He's carrying the bat with both hands. There's some mighty bloodstains on it, and parts of it are splintered and battered- but it's Donny's bat. Utivich hands it to me wordlessly.

I set it on my lap and stare at it for a minute, reading the names. _Rabbi Chomsky. Ester and Eva Bronstein. Jachai Berkowitz. _Some of the names are more new and fresh_, _still written in Donny's clumsy hand. _Hugo Stiglitz, Wilhelm Wicki, Smithson Utivich, Omar Ulmer.._

The handle of the bat has two names. _Murphy Donovan. _It's the only name on this bat that isn't Jewish, then I spot the name right above it. _Aldo Raine. _

"When I was in Boston I found a couple of those people," Utivich says softly. "Some were dead, like Berkowitz and Nico Friedman and Benny Blumenfeld. One of the Bronstein girls married and moved away, but I talked to one of them- don't know which one, though. Murphy Donovan's still alive."

"Now why would you go bothering them, Smitty," I breathe. I run my finger over the letters of my name. "Kid had too much time on his hands, I should have given him more work..look, he even wrote my name in Hebrew right next to the English." it's meant to sound condescending, but Utivich only laughs.

"He did that with all of our names." he adds, crossing his arms and walking over to the window.

"Wonder why his old folks didn't wanna keep it. Dontcha think they would have wanted it or somethin'? I've got nothing to do with it, not exactly somethin' you hang over the mantle an' brag about to your buddies while you're drinking and playin' cards." I glance up, but Utivich isn't listening.

I swallow. I wouldn't say I'm emotionless, but I'm not about to start cryin' over Donny any time soon either. It doesn't matter, Raine, just take the bat and put it in the basement back home or something, bury it in the backyard or let the dog chew on it so you can forget. In another two years maybe you won't even recognize the name Donny Donowitz.

I pick up the little picture and place it over the bat, right next to my name, then place it on the floor next to the chair and stand up.

I peer out the window, wondering what he's starin' at, but I see nothing interesting- just a lot of rich old fogeys and rich young snots. I fling my arm around Utivich. "Let's go get a drink before I leave, whatcha say?"

Utivich smiles and wipes his eyes.


End file.
